Change of Plans
by AlphaOmegaPsi
Summary: Two zombies meet on a snowy night and form an impossible bond. Will their relationship stand the test of time, or will the shadows of their past drive them apart? AU, Hanna/... friendship, some Con/Worth.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Yes, it's another AU! The originality just pours out of me like syrup on a maple tree!

Title shamelessly ripped from Killing Time by She Wants Revenge, which you should totally listen to if you're reading this because it is made of awesome and you will probably love it and if you don't that means you're a communist who likes to eat babies.

That being said, uh...enjoy?

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It was strange, he thought, how much comfort he felt from sitting in graveyards. No, not comfort…while he knew what comfort was, he couldn't remember the term ever applying to him. It was…familiar, like coming home. No matter how far he traveled, how many graveyards he visited, they all had the same feeling. Like he belonged there.

Then again, considering the rotting green tone of his skin, maybe that wasn't so strange.

The familiar feeling immediately washed over him as he passed under the wrought iron cemetery gate, eyes roving over the rows upon rows of gravestones that he could just pick out in the dark. It was peaceful in here, a loose gravel road the only thing suggesting that humans ever entered this place. Isolated and quiet; that was how he liked it.

His hands went into the pockets of his long brown trench coat – more for appearances than warmth, since he couldn't really feel the cold wind whipping the trees back and forth – as he wandered amongst the headstones. His glowing eyes roamed over polished marble, reflecting the bright light of the full moon, and the slightly less impressive granite, glowing dully against the white snow piled around it.

It was a fairly old cemetery, with sloppy rows of ground-down headstones scattered below his feet, some of them bearing letters far too faded to make out. The newer ones stood out like shining beacons, lording it over the others as if bragging they had lasted longer.

He wondered what that made him, wandering over the buried bodies as if he weren't exactly the same. Still walking and moving around, maybe, but his lungs and heart had long since stopped serving any purpose. He should be shut up tight in a coffin, under six feet of dirt with the same people he was walking over now. Was he bragging by walking into this graveyard with the body of a dead man? He sometimes wondered if it wasn't the other way around.

He stopped as he approached the end of the row, leaning forward to brush some snow off the headstone. It was different than the others; for one, it wasn't granite or marble, but slate. Certainly not good material for a tombstone. Crooked words that looked like they had been carved in with a bent chisel confirmed that it was a recent grave, with less than a year since the occupant had been buried.

_Hanna Cross…_

He frowned at the dates underneath the name and did the math in his head. She had been in her early twenties when she died. Far too young for anyone to die, though he wondered if he had any right to judge that.

The snow crunched around him as he carefully sat in the snow, joints creaking. "Looks like you and I will be each other's company tonight, Miss Cross," he said in a low voice, glowing orange eyes fixed unblinkingly on the date. His thoughts echoed back to him: _far too young to die._

The thought of saying a prayer for her crossed his mind, until he realized how ridiculous that was. Even if there was a being out there to pray to, this girl was dead and gone. No amount of prayers would change that or make it any better.

Still, he closed his eyes briefly, some strange sense of reverence gripping him for the girl that had been ripped away from life too soon. Maybe it was ridiculous, but it was nice to care about something for once, even if it was his fellow dead.

His eyes opened as he heard footsteps crunching toward him through the snow. It occurred to him that he should hide, but he could already tell that the footsteps were too near for that. Besides, even with the full moon beating down on him, there was a good chance that whoever was approaching wouldn't give a passing thought to his appearance. If they did, well, he would just leave. He was used to moving around anyway.

He listened calmly as the steps got closer and closer – a bit uneven, he noticed – before abruptly halting.

"Oh! Uh…sorry, I didn't know anyone else came out here at, uh…" pause "…3:00 AM." The tall man glanced at the stranger standing mere feet away and found himself staring at a small silhouette with a shock of messy hair sticking up at all angles. With the moon behind him, he couldn't make out any of the person's features. He could tell it was a boy, though; the voice was too masculine to be anything but.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no! I mean, it's a free country and all and it's not like I own the graveyard or anything…well, actually, I do, but that's beside the point. Seriously, though, you don't have to leave …" There was another long pause before the boy leaned forward excitedly, his face mere inches away. "Hey, no way! You're dead too!"

It was then that the zombie realized just what he was looking at. There was no mistaking that glow around the eyes and the sickly tint, not to mention the mess of stitches that littered the boy's face. He seemed fresher, with much less rot clinging to him, but there was no doubt he was face to face with another zombie.

"This is so cool! I've never met another one before!" The boy's mouth stretched into an impossibly wide smile, the stitches on his face straining with the effort of staying in place. "What's your name? Who raised you? How long have you been dead? Did you used to live around here? Wait, you didn't just crawl out, did you? No, you're definitely older than that. How old were you when you died? 30? 40? Older? You look like you were younger-"

The questions kept coming and coming, an endless stream, until the other man wondered if he was meant to answer them at all. Just when he was deciding he had been found by a lunatic, an insistent tug on his arm forced him into a standing position.

"Come on, let's go to my house! There's no food there or anything, but that's okay because you don't eat either, right? Or do you? I've never really met another zombie before, so I don't know if that's just me or not." On and on the boy chattered as he dragged him along through the snow, barely keeping his pace under a run in his obvious excitement.

The taller zombie was overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and energy this one seemed to have. It was such a strange contrast to himself, who only talked when necessary and behaved much like he thought a dead man should: quiet, withdrawn, and out of sight. This boy, despite his unmistakable zombie look, barely seemed dead at all.

He wondered about the questions he was being asked, and whether he would have to answer them later when the boy calmed down…if he calmed down. His name? He didn't remember. Who raised him? That was a mystery. How old was he when he died? Only his tombstone knew that, and he had left it behind long ago. If asked, he supposed he would just tell the truth. There didn't seem to be any point in making anything up, and at any rate he didn't have a very good imagination.

"Well, here we are! Casa de Hanna!" He frowned as he was almost literally pushed through the door of a small stone cottage, wondering if he had heard the boy correctly.

"Your name is Hanna?" he asked with a touch of confusion to his voice.

"That's right," the boy said, bustling past him into a tiny kitchen. He disappeared for a moment into a closet, only to reappear moments later dragging a chair to match the lonely one at the small round kitchen table.

"Hanna is not a boy's name." The boy stopped, his face twisting into a grimace.

"Yeah, well, my mother was one of those 'name your children something unique and special' kind of people, so if you want to blame anyone, blame her. Well, I guess you can't technically do that since she's dead now, but hey, so are we, so maybe you can. Anyway, you get used to it." The grin came back to his face like it belonged there as he set the chair down. "Why don't you sit down, uh…hey, what's your name?"

"I don't know," the taller zombie said simply. "I forgot it after I died. You can call me whatever you like, I suppose." It was almost funny, the way Hanna's emotions showed so clearly on his face. The grin fell to be replaced by an "O" of sympathy, though he didn't think it was as big a deal as the boy seemed to think it was.

"That's really sad, not having a name." His face became thoughtful. "How about this: I'll just call you different names until you find one you like or remember yours. Would that be okay, Steve? Richard? Leonardo?"

The taller man's lips quirked into something resembling a smile. He wondered how long it had been since they had done that. "Do you mind if I take off my coat?" he asked, neither encouraging nor dissuading the boy's idea. The grin slipped right back into place.

"I'll take it. Give it here." He slid the brown coat off as quickly as his stiff joints would allow – Hanna was not helping by tugging enthusiastically on the sleeve – and watched as the other boy ran with it to the closet where he'd gotten the chair. He watched the boy raise up on his toes to reach the bar just out of his sight, and took advantage of the first peaceful moment since they met to really look at him.

Hanna himself, besides being a strange enigma of a zombie, seemed to be plenty strange in his own right. His hair was a brilliant shock of red and stuck up at all angles like he had just woken up from a nap and forgot to brush it. He was rail thin, comfortably wearing clothes that looked like they would be snug on a ten-year-old girl, and so short that his stature was nothing short of unimpressive. Still, there was a strange sort of aura hanging around him, as if that small body were hiding something powerful inside it. He made a mental note not to underestimate Hanna, despite his appearance.

The boy joined him again and flopped down in his chair like a little kid, swinging his legs excitedly. "Come on, sit down! Oh man, this is just so cool, I mean, I knew I wasn't the only one, but _wow_, it's so rare to actually see one that isn't just a walking shell, and most of them can't even talk but you can and it's _awesome_!" The taller zombie actually felt worried about the stitches on Hanna's face as he carefully sat.

"Are we not supposed to be able to talk?" he asked, curious despite himself.

"Well, not normally, no. My uncle says that necromancers only really raise dead bodies to perform tasks for them, so there's no reason to bring the soul along with it. They can take basic directions, but otherwise they're just walking meat bags. I was a special case, though, and I guess you were too. I wonder who your necromancer was. Hey, how did you die, anyway?" As soon as the question was out of his mouth, the young boy looked mortified. "Oh, sorry! Is that a touchy subject? Do you not want to talk about it?"

He shrugged, his shoulders creaking extra loudly in his ears. "I don't remember that either. I don't remember anything of my life." The sympathetic look was back; he decided he didn't like that look.

"That's so sad that you don't remember your life. I remember everything about mine, but then I guess my uncle made me that way so that's not surprising." Hanna reached across the table for where the other zombie's hand was resting on the wood and started inspecting his stitches with a sort of morbid interest. He briefly considered pulling his hand back, but decided to let the boy do whatever he wanted. It wasn't as if he could hurt him.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Well, you technically just did, but sure. Go nuts." Hanna's tongue found its way between his teeth as his concentration narrowed to the other man's green wrist, palm, and the pads of his fingers. The taller zombie was surprised to find that it felt kind of good to have the boy's hands roaming over his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had physical contact with anyone.

"That gravestone I was sitting in front of…was that yours?"

The redheaded boy nodded. "Mm-hmm, I made it a while back, after my uncle ran off to who-knows-where with his apprentice. It's not like I had anything better to do, and there's not really anything under it – well, obviously, I wouldn't be sitting here if there was – but I just thought it might be nice to have a tombstone even if I wasn't technically buried. It's not like anyone really knows I died, but I think it's important to leave a mark even if my uncle wants to pretend it never happened."

"Mmm…" the taller man said in his throat. He was focusing on the intense expression on the smaller zombie's face. His demeanor seemed to have taken a complete 180 from earlier; was it because he had a task to focus on now? He was sure that knowledge would be useful in the future. For now, he took advantage of the silence to ask more questions. "You keep mentioning your uncle…he's a necromancer?"

"Yeah. Pretty powerful one, too, I mean, look at what he did with me. Not all of them can bring back souls." Hanna's bony fingers moved to his wrist, and the taller man felt a slight tugging sensation but paid it no mind. "He's my mother's brother. Raised me after she died…and then 'raised' me after I did." He chuckled at his own joke, the threat of his grin twitching at the corners of his mouth…only to abruptly drop at a dull thud on the hard wood table. "Uh-oh."

The other man finally looked down at his hand and was admittedly a bit shocked to find it not there anymore. Instead, a mess of useless veins and tendons greeted him, along with the fraying edges of the black thread that had once held his hand in place. His hand lay in the middle of the round table, as still and lifeless as a dead man's hand should be.

"Oh man, I'm so sorry! Uh…thread, thread…" Hanna jumped up from the table and began rummaging in kitchen draws, littering the ground with scissors, tape, candles, and other things in his haste. The other man paid him no mind, instead picking up his hand on the table with the one still attached and staring at it thoughtfully. He wondered if he could move it independently of his body, but after a few moments of trying realized that it was impossible. It was just a dead bit of flesh now, unless it could be reattached. Or maybe it would always be dead, and he just wouldn't have a right hand anymore. He felt that thought didn't disturb him as much as it should have.

Hanna's small green hands snatched his larger one, pressing it half-heartedly to his emaciated wrist as if trying to reattach it by will alone. When that didn't work, he set it down on the table and sighed.

"I'm out of thread," he said apologetically. "I guess I used the last of it to sew my foot back on last week."

The other man decided not to ask how it had come off in the first place. "That's okay. I can wait until you get more."

"No, I was the one messing with your stitches, I should have known how loose they get, that was so stupid of me." He wilted for a moment as if all the energy was drained from him, and then suddenly perked up like a light bulb being turned on. "I know! I'll take you to Worth! I'm sure he has some thread lying around somewhere. And he's a doctor, he should be able to patch you up great."

He decided not to ask, opting instead for complete silence as Hanna fetched his coat and even helped him put it on. He felt like he had used up his quota of words for the night asking what few questions he could manage, and now the need to say even a simple word of acknowledgment was all but gone. Perhaps it was Hanna's influence that had caused him to be so talkative, but it seemed to have worn off and now he was his usual nearly-silent self as he slipped his detached hand into his left coat pocket and followed the redhead out the door.

Once they were out into the cool night air, the older man noticed just how late it really was. The moon, still a flawlessly round disc in the sky, was beginning to sink lower and lower. Dawn was approaching, and with it, the thought of finding a place to hole up where nobody could see him.

He felt Hanna's hand slip into his, his grip surprisingly strong as he practically dragged him through the graveyard out onto the city streets, and found that the other zombie's hands were incredibly rough. He could feel how dry and cracked they were where their palms touched, and in his middle finger he could feel a deep cut that hadn't been stitched up. Just what was it that he did that was so taxing on his hands? No, not just his hands. His whole body. Remembering the comment about his severed foot just raised so many questions about Hanna's life that he both wanted to ask and didn't.

Hanna chattered as they walked, a constant string of consonants and vowels about weather, housework, TV shows he had watched, and "look, there's a rat, does that look like a rat, I think it's a rat." It was almost strange, after years of no social interaction, to have so much of it thrown at him at once. Still, it was enjoyable in its own way.

Eventually, Hanna's voice petered out and was replaced with humming. Loud, off-key humming that cut through the wind-whipped night like a knife cuts through warm butter. Except that knives usually cut through things for a reason; Hanna seemed to be humming just for the sake of humming.

They walked together like that for a while until the taller man suddenly jerked them to a stop. Hanna looked up with his glowing blue eyes, an eyebrow raised. "What is it?"

"That song you're humming…is that Queen?" He knew he had heard the chorus to "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" somewhere in that mess of sound. The return of Hanna's grin told him he'd guessed right.

"Hey…is that a memory from your old life, Phineas? Are you remembering something?"

The older man did feel something, like the ghost of a memory lurking just out of reach in his own head. A little girl with golden blonde hair. A small hand grabbing his arm. He tried to reach for it, but like a spooked animal, it ran until it was nothing but a dim buzz. He shook his head. "No…I just recognize the song."

"Well, either way, it's good you like Queen, because I play a lot of it at home. I'll let you look at my collection sometime." As they continued on, the taller man wondered at the barely-there memory that had surfaced. What did it mean, that a simple song had evoked something that felt so meaningful yet slipped between his fingers so easily? He thought about it for a time, but then decided it wasn't worth worrying about. If his memories wanted to resurface, they would, and forcing them obviously wouldn't do any good.

Then he thought about what Hanna had said. Did the boy really intend for him to stay? It made sense; after all, he would want to be around someone who understood what he was going through. Considering their differences, he thought he might not have been the best candidate for that position, but it wasn't like the redhead had too many options.

The more he though about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. He didn't like wandering from city to city for fear of someone recognizing him for what he was. Settling down in one place, especially in a graveyard with another walking, talking dead boy, seemed almost too good to be true. It sounded kind of nice, though, and for a moment he thought he could remember what comfort felt like as he allowed himself to be dragged through the empty streets.

For now, anyway, he could tell that things were going to change. Whether that was a good thing or not, well…he'd find that out later.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: So you guys kind of get this later than everyone else. BUT, you get the edited version, so it's not quite as sucky. Not sure if that's a consolation, but there ya go.

I apologize in advance for those couple paragraphs where Toni is explaining her situation and leading them to her apartment because I know that it is all kinds of awkward. However, after rewriting it three times, I decided I wasn't wasting all my editing time on that. So, just...ignore that. I'll do better next chapter.

HiNaBN (c) Tessa Stone, not me

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"This is it. Worth's place." Hanna tugged open the heavy metal door, unmarked in any noticeable way and located in the most nondescript alley off of the most nondescript street the taller zombie had ever seen. Even when he peered inside, what he could see didn't seem very impressive. Dirty concrete floors, peeling paint on the walls half-hidden by faded posters, a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling to throw yellow light into the room and accentuate every stain and dirt-smear.

To be honest, he had been kind of hoping that Hanna was dragging him through a shortcut. The thought that there was actually a doctor in that cesspool, especially one that was presumably going to give him a right hand again, was just the slightest bit terrifying. This was the kind of place whores went when they had unexpected pregnancies; where mobsters went to get bullets removed from their guts. It wasn't where sort-of-dead people went to have parts sewn back on.

Then again, he doubted there was a place for that, so perhaps he shouldn't complain.

"Don't tell me ya need a patch job already," a rough-looking blonde man said from behind a worn desk, Australian accent apparent even as he ground it out around a hand-rolled cigarette. He was leaning back in a dilapidated old chair resting against a peeling wall, feet propped up and looking relaxed despite the annoyed tone in his voice. "Thought I told ya to stop with all that runnin' around and losin' body parts."

"Hey, I'm not here for me this time," Hanna said with a sheepish laugh, hands raised as a shield for the glare the supposed doctor was shooting his way. "This is my new friend Gallahad," the man's eyes flicked with disinterest in his direction for a second before resettling on Hanna, "And uh…well…you know how you're always telling me not to mess with my own stitches or else they'll come apart? Well, funny story…" Hanna's hand grasped at his empty wrist and held it up for the man to see, pushing back the coat sleeve even though the lack of a hand was blatantly obvious. The other man reacted with only a raised eyebrow; an understatement to say the least.

"First ya kill the guy, then you chop off his damn hand? Now see, Hanna, this is why people don't like you."

"What! I did not kill him! I mean, someone did, but it wasn't me!" He returned the other man's glare full force, though the effect was somewhat lost as he responded with an amused smirk. "And I didn't chop it off, it just kindasorta came off accidentally are you going to just _sit _there or are you going to sew it back on?"

The blonde man stared at Hanna for a moment, looking for all intents and purposes like he _was_ just going to sit there, thank you very much, before he shrugged one bony shoulder in a gesture that looked like it might have been a yes. Still, he took his sweet time getting up, lowering his chair legs down to the hard floor carefully, standing up and stretching so hard that a distinct "pop!" could be heard from the man's back, stabbing out the cigarette in his mouth on the wall and immediately pulling another from the pocket of his (it probably used to be white) coat.

"Well, come on if yer comin'," he growled. They followed him to a back room that was almost empty, the only pieces of furniture being a desk full of drawers littered with medical supplies and one shiny examination table that looked like it would be cold for a person who was alive.

"Sit down," the doctor ordered, turning around to look through the top drawer of the desk. The tall zombie went to remove his coat – while Hanna tugged again on the sleeve, which was still not helpful – and sat on the gleaming surface, detached hand resting beside him, so still he couldn't imagine that just sewing it back on would give it the ability to move again.

The doctor – Worth, he reminded himself – turned back with a needle and a spool of thick black thread in hand and got to work immediately. The zombie held his hand in place while Worth carefully lined up his wrist and began making small, neat stitches to connect the two bits of flesh. He had expected it to hurt, but he barely felt the pinch and tug of the needle as it passed through his skin, at least not on a level that was unbearable.

"So where'd ya pick up tall, dark, and dead here?" Worth asked, his attention still focused on his stitching; the question was clearly directed at Hanna.

The redhead began to excitedly recap the entire story, though neither of the men seemed to be listening. The doctor was focused too much on his task, and the zombie couldn't stop staring at the rhythmic way Worth worked, as if sewing to some unknown beat, creating clean and neat stitches that blended in nicely with the others and lent no weight to the idea that it had ever come off in the first place. Whatever doubts he'd had about the man's skill as a doctor evaporated. He obviously knew what he was doing.

When the doctor finished, the taller zombie flexed his hand experimentally and found it worked just as well as it did before. It looked like he wouldn't have to go through the rest of his unlife without a hand after all. He slid off the table and turned to thank Worth, but the blonde man was already preoccupied with Hanna.

"Your turn, zombie boy."

"Aw, come on, how is that fair!" Hanna practically whined. "I told you nothing was wrong with me! We just needed to get Ulysses patched up!"

"Yeah, and the last time ya told me that, ya almost lost yer fuckin' head." Worth glared in a way that suggested he was not to be questioned. If he noticed the name change, he didn't mention it. "Now sit down on the damn table before I have to strap you down."

Hanna grumbled in annoyance but did as Worth said, hopping up onto the examination table and pulling off his shirt in one move. The other zombie stared at the sight that met his eyes. Namely, the giant scar the zigzagged its way across the smaller zombie's chest, secured in place by thick staples and the grace of god. Again, he found himself wondering just what it was that Hanna _did_. What could he have done to obtain such a massive scar?

Hanna noticed him staring and hunched down so his arms rested on his knees, hiding his torso from view. It was casual enough that it could have been pure coincidence, but the way the redhead averted his eyes and said "Something wrong, Ignatz?" with a forced smile told him it wasn't.

"No," he said quietly. There was a time and place for everything, and here and now was definitely not for asking questions. At least, he thought, not ones that were so very personal.

"Yer seal's a little worn down," Worth said, ignoring their little exchange in favor of staring at Hanna's back. Curious, the zombie joined the doctor on the other side of the table and was surprised to find a large runic circle drawn over the span of Hanna's back, though it seemed silly to get surprised by anything at that point. Especially after seeing the younger boy's chest.

"Gonna have to get yer uncle to redraw that when he gets back," Worth continued, "Otherwise yer soul's gonna go poof."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll mention it if he ever decides to show his face again," Hanna said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "Anyway, it should be okay for at least another year before I really have to worry." He noticed the older zombie staring at the mark and grinned. "Hey, Galileo, what's with the staring? You've got one of these too, don't you?"

"I don't think so," he said. "At least, I've never seen one on myself."

"It's probably just on your back or behind your ear or something. I'll look for it sometime; it'll probably need to be redrawn too." Worth moved, testing out the joints on Hanna's arms, legs, and even his neck with no gentleness as he tugged and stretched. He pulled on every one of Hanna's stitches – even the ones on his face, though the younger boy whined the whole time – and grunted in satisfaction when none of them came loose.

"This has gotta be the first time you been here that I don't need to do major surgery. That's one hell of an achievement, kid."

"Well, it had to happen eventually," Hanna said, slipping his shirt back on, carefully avoiding the staples on his chest. "It's been a while since I've had a job, anyway, so it's been quiet lately."

"Yeah, well, let's hope it stays that way," the doctor said with a yawn. He cracked his neck with a loud snap and headed back to his chair, the two zombies trailing behind him. "If ya had a damn bit of sense, you'd stop goin' on those suicide missions. Ya know, I spend about half of my supplies just tryin' ta keep you in one piece. I gotta pay for that shit."

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Hanna said with a laugh that said he was going to disobey Worth the first chance he got. With that taken care of, they were gone, back out into the cool night air – well, more like very early morning air, the zombie thought as he noted the position of the moon. Only a few hours left until sunup.

They didn't talk much on the way back, though Hanna broke the silence by loudly humming what sounded like "Killer Queen." The dark-haired zombie's mouth curved into something resembling a smile. He had only known the boy for a few hours, but the atmosphere between them seemed so comfortable. He wondered if it was because they were both of the walking dead variety, or if it was just Hanna's nature. Whatever the reason, it was kind of nice. He had been wandering alone for so long, without even memories to keep him company, that he hadn't realized how much he wanted companionship. He would be the first to admit he didn't expect it to come from someone like Hanna, but with the way things had gone in the past few hours, he couldn't find it in himself to complain.

Though it was very late (actually very early) when they reached the cottage, the pair were curious to find they had a visitor. She was a young girl, maybe twenty or twenty-one, with blue streaks through her dark ponytail and a blue fauhawk cutting across the top of her head. She was bundled up in a bright blue coat, presumably to match her hair, thick black gloves, and boots that were the wrong type to go crunching through the snow in. Her face was distraught as she stared at the ground, seemingly lost in thought, but dropped into polite and businesslike when she noticed them approaching.

"Mister Cross?" Her eyes flicked between them as if she wasn't sure who to address, until Hanna stepped forward with a somewhat goofier grin than usual.

"That's me. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, I'm so glad," the girl sighed in relief. "I thought you were asleep, since it was so late." The taller zombie watched her size Hanna up, eyes going slightly wide when she seemed to realize just why he wasn't asleep at such an hour. Still, she pressed on, seemingly unphased by the less-than-alive boy before her.

"My name is Toni Ipres," she continued. "See…I've had this vampire stalking me for a while. That's not really the problem, though, at least not anymore, because a friend helped me out with this spell to seal him up in one place. Namely, a coffin in the basement of my apartment." She smiled in a way that seemed to be a cross between sheepish and nauseous. "He's been down there for a few months now, and the seal is wearing off. I think I need to just kill him and get it over with, but I don't want to go down there alone. I don't really know if this is the kind of thing you do, but could you maybe help me out?"

"Hmmm…vampire hunting, huh?" Hanna looked thoughtful. "I've never really tried that before. Not that I need to…vampires don't really like me for some reason. Still, I mean, if he's pestering you that much, I guess we could help."

"You will?" The girl's face split into a wide smile. She threw her arms around Hanna's shoulders, rivalling him in enthusiasm. "Thank you so much!"

They left immediately ("Because why wait when a pretty girl needs help?") and followed Toni through the empty streets to her apartment building. It was a fairly small building, only two stories with maybe three individual apartments on each floor. But it seemed well-kept, at least.

"Nobody ever comes down here," Toni said, leading them down a flight of stairs to the basement. "They don't have any reason to, anyway. I'm the landlady, so I kind of have to. I guess it's a good thing, though, otherwise someone might have accidentally freed him."

The basement itself was pretty bare, with not much more than an old boiler to show for itself. It just made the black coffin in the corner with the runes drawn all over it all the more noticeable.

"This is him," Toni said, her voice low as if she were afraid he would hear them. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two wooden stakes, offering one to Hanna. She smiled apologetically at the taller zombie before turning back to the task at hand. "Hopefully, he's asleep, or at least too weak to fight."

Hanna grimaced as he took the stake. "You know, a knife probably would have done just fine…stabbing something in the heart usually does a pretty good job of killing it, no matter what it's with."

"Oh." The girl laughed. "Guess I've seen too many movies." She took a cautious step toward to coffin, laying a hand gently on its surface. "You ready?"

Hanna nodded, and suddenly a hissing sound rent the air as Toni flung the top open. There were a few moments of chaos, where the coffin door went "bang!" against the wall and something that looked much smaller than a vampire went flying out and made for the open basement door.

"Caius!" He was already on it, pushing the door shut and snicking the lock. The thing – seriously, it was way too small to be a vampire – couldn't change course in time and slammed hard into the door. The zombie just barely managed to catch it before it crumpled to the ground.

"Nice catch, Oedipus!" Hanna jogged over to him, peering at his hands at the…bat. The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I may not exactly be an expert on vampires, but that's definitely not a vampire."

"The coffin's empty," Toni said, joining them. She was holding the stake up to her chest as she peered cautiously over Hanna's shoulder, visibly spooked. "That has to be him. Nothing else could have gotten in and there was no way for him to get out."

"But vampires are big bad scary monsters that suck blood and have fangs and make you count stupid things." He frowned. "This thing is…adorable!"

Before the two could get into any sort of serious discussion about what a vampire was and wasn't, the bat began to stir in the taller zombie's hand. Before he could close his hands around it, it was off again. But this time its target was much closer: Hanna's throat.

"Agh, get it off!" Hanna screeched as the bat sunk its teeth into his neck. His hands scrabbled at the small red bundle while Toni flailed to get her stake in place, panicked eyes looking for an opening that wouldn't involve stabbing Hanna. It turned out that was unnecessary, since the bat let go of the smaller zombie almost immediately, flying a few feet away and landing hard on the concrete floor.

"Oh man, a fucking dead guy! Are you serious? Shit, this is _not_ my night!"

"It talks," the taller zombie said with a raised eyebrow. Hanna looked positively delighted by this news.

"Wow, a talking bat! That would make such a cool pet! What do you say, Nero, can we keep him? Please?"

"Uh, Hanna…"

"I'm not your fucking pet!" The bat glared up at him from the ground, the effect someone lessened when Hanna made an excited "Gnee!" sound at the expression. It opened its mouth, probably to spew obscenities in Hanna's direction, but fell back with a woozy groan. "So…hungry."

"I think this _is_ our vampire," the taller zombie said, kneeling down beside the small red bundle. He scooped it up carefully and cradled the body against his chest. "It looks like the lack of blood really did a number on him."

"I've heard that some vampires can transform into animals," Toni said, staring at the bat in wonder. "I thought that was just a myth, though. Man, I just don't have the heart to kill him like this."

"Yeah, killing something so cute would really ruin my day." Hanna tickled the bat's cheek with one finger, managing to dodge the half-hearted bite. "Guess we'd better get some blood in him, then?" An idea seemed to hit Hanna then, making his grin go even wider. "Oh, man…Worth's going to love this."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I'm so sorry for anyone who was waiting for this, I actually had it finished weeks ago and completely forgot to update here. Eheh...well, it's here now, and I'll get the fourth one up just as soon as I have it finished.

* * *

All too soon, they found themselves back in Worth's back-alley room-that-passed-as-an-office, this time with two new group members. They had taken longer at Toni's than expected, so by the time they left the basement, the sun was beginning to rise. The taller zombie had been forced to hide the vampire in his coat pocket until they were safely out of the sun's harmful rays. He didn't know how long it would take for the sun to kill a vampire (especially while in bat form, which was a whole new set of questions) but the poor thing was so weak that he might die just from being under too bright of a lamp.

Toni had also tagged along. For all her complaints about her vampire stalker, she seemed genuinely worried that something would happen to him. Kind of strange, considering her original intent was to kill him. Then again, the dark-haired zombie suspected that she never wanted to. It was probably why she hired them in the first place; she didn't seem like a person who could ever kill anything without feeling immensely guilty about it afterward, no matter how necessary it might be.

When they reached the office, Worth was absent, the lack of his presence all-too-obvious in the tiny room. Hanna seemed unperturbed by this, reaching into the other zombie's coat to retrieve the vampire with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"He's probably just passed out in the back," he said with a shrug, holding the limp bat against his chest. "It's not like he's got anywhere else to go. Anyway, he should have some blood bags around here somewhere, help me look."  
"Is it okay to just barge in here like this?" Toni asked with an appropriate amount of nervousness. She looked like she was afraid to touch anything, though whether it was because of the grime or simply because she didn't like to snoop was a mystery.

"The door was unlocked," Hanna said pointedly, as if that justified their breaking and entering. He flung open a small cooler (really, it was just a beat up mini fridge) and grinned as he found row after row of blood bags, fresh for the taking. "Jackpot."

The older zombie joined him. "Will that work?" he asked.

"Well, it's better than nothing." Hanna jostled the small body in his arms. "Hey, vampire dude, do you prefer O negative or AB positive?"

The bat just whimpered, clutching at Hanna's shirt with one tiny claw. Hanna shot him a sympathetic look and grabbed a bag at random, closing the small door with his foot.

"Is he okay?" Toni appeared at the smaller zombie's shoulder. Her hand crept toward the tiny body, but Hanna pushed it back.

"Careful, he might bite you," he said seriously. "I'm safe because…well…but you're full of blood and he'll suck you dry if he gets the chance."

The taller zombie took that as his cue to gently take the girl's arm and pull her to the far end of the room, just behind Worth's shoddy desk. The vampire was weak now, but after getting some blood, he would be plenty strong enough to go after her if he chose. Best to put as much distance between them as he could.

"Okay, Mr. Vampire, time for a snack," Hanna practically cooed, opening the bag of blood as carefully as he could (still managing to get a good amount on his arm, but he didn't seem to mind) and holding it to the bat's lips. At first, he didn't seem to be moving, and the older zombie wondered if he hadn't just up and died, but soon enough the sound of suckling filled the room as he desperately gulped down the life-giving liquid.

Watching the scene, the other zombie found it to be a disturbing pantomime of a mother feeding her child. Hanna's face was no less gentle as he encouraged the vampire to drink, the small bundle eager to comply as his strength returned bit by bit. He wondered if Hanna would continue to surprise him this much, or if he would eventually grow used to the boy's unpinnable personality. Both outcomes seemed equally possible.

"Can you sit up?" Hanna asked as the vampire finished off the bag with one last desperate suck that crumpled the plastic with a loud crackling noise. The bat made a gesture with his head that might have been a nod as he sat up slowly in Hanna's hand. He still seemed a bit weak, as he stretched out his wings and took a tighter hold of Hanna's shirt.

"More," he croaked in a tiny, pathetic voice. The please seemed to be implied. If he had knees, the other zombie had no doubt he would be on them begging right now.

"Fine," Hanna said with a fake sigh of annoyance. "But this is the last one. Worth will kill me if I use up all his blood." He toed open the fridge again and grabbed a new bag. This time, the vampire was able to feed himself. Still cradled in the crook of Hanna's arm, though, the imagery of him being the boy's child was unshakable.

"Looks like he's okay," Toni noted, eying the scene with a somewhat dubious expression, as if she too wasn't sure how to react. "I bet you guys do stuff like this all the time, though."

The zombie's shoulders creaked as he shrugged them. "I'm sort of…new," he said. "I wouldn't know." He was curious, though, despite himself. The girl hadn't mentioned exactly what it was Hanna did (and neither did Hanna, now that he thought about it) but it apparently involved vampires in some sense. He didn't think he was a hunter, not with the way he was treating this vampire, but it was obvious this was nothing new to him. He would have to ask when they had a quiet moment.

When he looked back, the bat was gone. Instead there was a young man that looked like he was in his mid-twenties leaning heavily on Hanna's shoulder. The blood bag was clutched in his free hand, nearly dry even as he tried to suck the last drops out of it. Hanna helped him sit down on a somewhat sturdy looking crate in the corner and plucked the useless bit of plastic out of his hands when it was obvious he wasn't getting anything more out of it.

Toni took a step forward, glancing back at the taller zombie to see if he would stop her. He gave a little shake of his head. It still wasn't safe.

"Stay here," he ordered, striding across the room to join Hanna as the younger boy was inspecting the vampire.

"Look at this, Hector," he said as the older zombie approached. He lifted the man's top lip, seemingly unphased when he swatted the green hands away with a growl. "Did you see? He's only got one fang."

"I'm not a dog," the vampire slurred, something akin to a pout furrowing his brow.

"Kind of a weird vampire, isn't he?" Hanna said, ignoring the man. "I mean, he's wearing glasses. What kind of vampire wears glasses? Aren't they supposed to have, like…super good eyesight or something like that?"

"I don't really know," the taller zombie said, catching the vampire's furious expression out of the corner of his eye. He pulled Hanna a step back just as the vampire took a swipe at his arm.

"I'm right here!" the man snapped. "Stop talking about me like I'm invisible!"  
Hanna blinked once (presumably out of surprise since he didn't need to blink normally) and stared at the vampire as if he were seeing him for the first time. "What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

The vampire's expression was somewhere between surprise and fury, facial muscles twitching as if the emotions were duking it out just under the surface. It would have been funny if there didn't seem to be a very real danger of him ripping Hanna's head off his shoulders and chucking it across the room. Maybe he was still a little too weak for that, though, as he released a heavy sigh (did vampires breathe?) and slumped against the wall once more.

"Conrad Achenleck."

"Nice to meet you, Connie," Hanna said, grabbing the other man's hand and shaking it against the vampire's will, seemingly oblivious to the deep scowl Conrad was trying to burn through his head at the nickname. "I'm Hanna Cross, and this is…" Hanna glanced over his shoulder at the taller zombie. "Well, that's not important right now."

"I'm Toni," the girl piped up from just behind them, peering over Hanna's small shoulder with a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that whole…trapping you in a coffin until you almost starved thing." She flinched when his glare landed on her, taking a step back. The dark-haired zombie stepped in front of her.

"Don't," he warned. Conrad's face was startled when it fell on his, and the zombie couldn't help but wonder if his face was really that scary.

"I wasn't…I mean…come on, you think I can't control myself?" He seemed to shrink a bit under the larger man's gaze. "Wasn't gonna drink her dry or anything…I never planned to. But I've gotta eat too."

_A weird vampire, indeed,_ the taller zombie thought, staring down at the pathetic form before him. His shoulders were hunched around his ears, hands disappearing somewhere between his knees, gaze fixated on the hard concrete ground. Hanna had mentioned before that vampires were supposed to be bloodsucking monsters. If anything, this man looked less like a vampire than he had when he was a bat. The single sharp fang jutting over his lip was the only clue that he was anything more than human.

"I really am sorry," Toni said in a quiet voice. Conrad grunted in response, which she seemed to take as a sign of forgiveness. It was probably the closest thing she would ever get.

After that came a silence that the older zombie could only call awkward. Four pairs of eyes shifted, glancing at the others, as they all wondered who was going to break it. As it turned out, none of them.

"Christ, Hanna, can't a guy sleep fer five minutes without having ta deal with yer bullshit?" Worth grumbled, appearing from somewhere in the deep recesses of the building. His fur coat was gone, replaced with a ratty grey t-shirt and plaid boxer shorts that looked long past the throwing-out stage.

"Oh, Worth. Uh…morning?" Hanna grinned, seeming happy for the distraction. "You really shouldn't leave your door open if you don't want people barging in. I could have killed you in your sleep, you know."

Worth grumbled something that might have been "Fuck you, kid," and scrubbed a hand over his dirty face with a yawn. "The hell are all these people doin' here anyway? Someone forget ta invite me ta the party?"  
"What? No, that's stupid, Worth."

The dark-haired zombie glanced around at their companions and decided that it probably wouldn't be a very fun party anyway.

Worth's eyes wandered over them as he pulled out a cigarette (he didn't really want to know where it had come from) and lit it with a lighter sitting out on the shelf to his right. "So who's the broad, then?" His eyes lingered a little on Conrad and a smirk split his features. "And the fag."

"What?" Conrad looked as if he wanted to strangle the doctor, but Hanna quickly chimed in.

"This is Toni Ipres. She hired us to kill…well, him. Conrad Achen…uh…doc? Bell?"  
"AchenLECK," Conrad corrected with a seething glare.

"So why ain't 'e dead?" Worth asked with a bored puff.

"Well, see…" Hanna's hand found its way to the back of his neck. "We were totally prepared for some badass vampire to pop out that we'd have to have, like, an epic battle for our lives against. But we found him instead and he was just this cute little bat and he was starving to death and I just couldn't kill him. So we brought him here and…."

Hanna flinched as if he expected the other man to yell, but the doctor simply grumbled and rubbed at his temples as if he had a headache. The taller zombie watched as his cigarette dropped bits of ash onto the concrete floor, all but forgotten in Worth's mouth.

"D'ya know how much Monty _charges_ me fer all that blood? Ya better be willin' ta pay me back or I may hafta kill ya all over again."

"Eheh…well, funny thing is…"

"Hanna…"

"I don't really have any money right now!" Hanna's green hands clasped together, acting as a sort of shield for his head, though Worth hadn't moved an inch from the doorway. "So I kinda…can't…really…pay you. But I can do, uh…something else?"

Worth grimaced. "That don't really help me, yer so goddamn useless." He spat out the unfinished cigarette in his mouth, stamping it out with his bare foot as his dark eyes roamed over the misfit party. He barely glanced at the dark-haired zombie, as if he were nothing of consequence to whatever plan he seemed to be cooking up. Toni his eyes lingered on, until she uncomfortably crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a half-hearted glare. When his gaze fell on Conrad, his smirk reappeared, splitting his dirty and unshaven face in two.

"Tell ya what," he said, lighting up another cigarette from the recesses of "don't want to know" land. "Count Fagula over there's the one who drank it, so I says he's gotta work off the debt. 'E stays with me, then we're square."

"There is no way-!"

"Done!" Hanna agreed, ignoring Conrad's spluttering protests. "Heh…sorry, Connie, but he's really not so bad once you get to know him and anyway, you'll have a place to come back to when it's daytime. Plus…I mean, you did kinda drink two whole bags of blood, which don't get me wrong, I totally understand, but still. It's only fair."

Conrad glanced at the door mere feet away, as if wondering how long it would take to push past them and escape. But then he seemed to remember the sun was out and slumped back on the wall, his face a mask of fury as he stared daggers into the back of Hanna's head. The smaller zombie seemed not to notice as he said goodnight to Worth (really good morning, but it seemed Worth kept odd hours) and led his companions out the door into the morning air.

"Well, that was…interesting," Toni said, glancing back at the door with an uncomfortable expression. The older zombie was honestly impressed that she had taken the whole situation so well. Anyone else would have run screaming into the night, though he suspected it was her already existing knowledge of vampires that kept her from freaking out too badly.

He thought now that they were in broad daylight, where everyone could see them for what they were, Toni might have gotten away as quickly as possible and never returned. But she seemed to have no intention of leaving, chatting amiably with Hanna while they walked her home. He could tell she was a pretty open-minded person, someone who rolled with the punches and didn't dwell on things that were, quite literally, only skin deep. He suspected this wouldn't be the last time they saw her.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Toni exclaimed as they reached her apartment. She fished around in her pocket and pulled out a bill, forcing it into Hanna's protesting hand. "I hope it's enough. I never really got to ask you about your rates."

"It's too much! We didn't even really do anything!" He tried to give her back the money, but she just gave them a little wave and disappeared into the complex.

Hanna sighed as he stared at the bill, which the older zombie could see was a fifty. He pocketed it with more reluctance than the other man thought was necessary.

"It's not that much," he remarked. "Aren't you overreacting a bit?"

"I know, but…all we did was catch a bat. That's not exactly a hard day's work." The pout from the smaller zombie earned him a thin smile as they made their way back to the graveyard.

"What exactly is it that you do?" the taller zombie asked. Now was as good a time as any to ask.

"I'm a paranormal investigator," Hanna said with some pride. "Or…well, I was. When I was alive. I still get some cases, though, and there's really no reason to stop, especially now that I don't need to eat or sleep or anything like that. Really frees up my whole day."

That certainly explained why he seemed so comfortable around the vampire. It also probably accounted for the dozens of wounds marking his body. He didn't know much about the paranormal world, barring the fact that he was definitely part of it now, but he doubted it was full of fuzzy bats and sunshine.

There was still the matter of that scar on his chest, though. Something told him that wasn't some offhand wound he'd acquired in some minor (or even major) scuffle. It was deeply personal, something that wounded him deep in his soul.

It seemed impossible not to care for Hanna. The boy had that way about him that just made a person want to protect him. So when he found himself genuinely worried about what that scar truly meant, it didn't surprise him in the least.  
Someday, he would ask him about it, and someday he would get an answer. Just not today.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: First Conrad-centric chapter of the story! Woot! I love this guy, he's got so many problems. And if there's one thing I love in my fictional boys, it's problems. BRING ON THE ANGST.

Can someone tell me if I'm completely butchering Worth's accent? Because something's wrong with me...I can't actually hear it as an Australian accent in my head, no matter how hard I try. I hear it as Southern, so I'm basically flying with that and I just know I'm fucking it up. Please feel free to horribly rip me apart about that.

Also, that guy at the end? Totally got eaten by a T-Rex. But it's okay, because on the way to Worth's he burnt down an orphanage...full of kittens. Think of all the poor, dead kitten-orphans! Feel bad for ever feeling bad for him!

HiNaBN (c) Tessa Stone, definitely not me.

* * *

"You know, I'm just going to leave when the sun sets," Conrad said to Worth's retreating back. There was nothing keeping him here, after all, and the man was so thin there was no way he could match the vampire in strength. He wondered if the supposed doctor had thought of that when he set his terms – terms that Conrad had never actually agreed to! He didn't seem like the intelligent sort, so he doubted it.

Still, it was a nuisance to be stuck in one place for the whole day. Especially in a place so grimy and ill-kept. The crate he was sitting on was probably the cleanest thing in the room, and he still found himself on the very edge to avoid touching it overmuch. Sure, it was better than being trapped in that coffin, but a prison was a prison.

Well, at least this prison had food.

Conrad pushed himself to his feet and began exploring, careful not to touch the walls. The room he was in was fairly large, with a high ceiling full of sturdy-looking metal beams. Everything else was concrete, cold and hard and lifeless, with a few ripped posters thrown up on the walls in some sad attempt to make the place less gloomy. Medical posters…one about anatomy, and another about handwashing that looked like it had been ripped down and put back up several times.

He glanced through the open doorway into the room beyond, finding a crude sort of operation room. One metal table in the middle of the same cold concrete, with a high desk filled to the brim with surgeon's tools that looked like they could use a good once-over (or five-times-over) with rubbing alcohol. Or acid. Or whatever would get that gunk that looked suspiciously like old blood off them.

Beyond the room he spotted another doorway. He took a step toward it, then hesitated. He distinctly remembered the other man had gone that way, and didn't particularly want to follow him. He was probably back in bed now, and disturbing him didn't seem like the best idea. He made his way back to where he was before, feeling something that was akin to security fall over him as he put his back to the dingy wall.

He glanced at the small refrigerator in the corner with a scrutinizing gaze. At the time, the bagged blood had been like nectar from the gods themselves, so satisfying to his empty stomach that he felt he could have drank it for days. But that was just the starvation talking. Now that he was past the danger mark, he recalled how cold and mottled the blood had really been. There was no spark of life in the disappointing substitute. The beating of the heart that made the blood flow so easily into his waiting mouth was woefully absent.

It was like giving a man a sandwich with stale, moldy bread. It was edible, sure, and might ease his hunger, but it wasn't something he would eat willingly.

A sharp growl from his stomach made him wonder if he had a choice. Maybe he wouldn't starve, but he knew he was weak, and he couldn't hunt until night. It might not be good, but it would give him the energy he needed to get what he really wanted. He had just decided to gulp down as much as he could manage and try not to taste it when the hot, overwhelming scent of fresh blood attacked his nose.

A small part of his brain that wasn't _needbloodnow_ flashed briefly with concern. Had the other man hurt himself in some way? Was he lying on the floor somewhere in a crumpled mess? Even if he was a prick, he didn't deserve to die. But then the hunger overrode everything, and he was soon following the scent through the operation room and through to the winding hallway.

He found Worth in what probably passed as his bedroom (though the bed was really only a sunken mattress in the corner without any sheets and only one thin blanket) reclining quite comfortably against the wall with a cigarette in one hand and a scalpel in the other. Conrad could barely focus on his mocking leer when he caught sight of the man's arm, jagged gash torn wide open and dripping blood onto the soiled mattress.

"Took ya long enough," Worth said, beckoning him closer. Conrad obeyed with the air of a man in a trance, one knee lowered onto the mattress before he fully grasped the situation.

"I-I can't!" he snapped, jerking himself back with one hand over his mouth and nose. The scent of blood was so thick and heady in the air, turning his brain into a fog. But one thought pierced through it and shone above all: if he drank from him, Worth would die. He was too hungry, and the other man was far from a healthy weight. The situation could not end well.

"Course ya can. 'M givin' you a treat." The grin might have looked goofy on anyone else, but on Worth it was borderline terrifying. "Figured I'd start trainin' ya now, seein' as yer such a stubborn little fuck."

"What?" Anger rose above his hunger for a brief moment. "I am not your pet!"

"Course ya are. Thought you understood that, Fagula." He held up his bleeding arm pointedly. "Now, ya gonna do somethin' about this, or does all that pretty red stuff have to go to waste?"

Conrad usually had more willpower, really. But put a borderline-starving vampire in a room with a bleeding man, even if that man also happened to be the most vile and infuriating thing on the planet, and willpower became a moot issue. He seemed to watch himself from outside his body as he practically dove onto the bed and snatched Worth's arm, almost ripping it off in his enthusiasm to gulp the delicious liquid down.

Warm, fresh, _living_, flowing down his throat and filling his stomach as fast as he could drink. Conrad's fingers gripped the other man's bleeding arm so tightly he could practically feel the bruises forming. All concern for anyone else's well-being evaporated as the carnal part of his brain took over and turned him into a greedy, blood-sucking monster.

Worth's blood tasted faintly of cinnamon, with a strong aftertaste of cigarette smoke; unsurprising, considering the other man had a cancer stick clenched between his lips even now. It had a sharp, almost bitter undertone, which Conrad had come across several times in recent years, which indicated the man was no stranger to oxycodone. Luckily, it seemed he had last taken it several days ago. One of the bad things about having to survive on others' blood was that he was subject to whatever influence his food happened to be under at the time.

He could feel the heartbeat, surprisingly strong as he drank even as he knew he had to be reaching the bottom of the man's metaphorical barrel. Even as this thought hit him, he knew he wouldn't stop…couldn't stop. He hadn't killed since he was a fledgling, but deep inside he knew that he was going to kill this man. Nothing could wrest him away from the sweet taste of his blood.

And why shouldn't he? He was a predator of the night, a hunter in every sense of the word. He had only been captured in the first place because he was too weak to defend himself. Normal vampires killed their food. Normal vampires were strong. He wanted to be strong, too. Something wild seemed to activate in his brain, making him tear at the gash to make more sweet blood dribble out into his waiting mouth. No longer was this about food, but about pride. His pride as a vampire.

Conrad heard a moan from the man above him, and reason pierced through his bloodlust. He was actually…killing this man. He was taking a life with his own hands when it wasn't his to take. He remembered back to the night he had been sired, the vow he'd made to himself that he would never kill another living thing as long as his immortal life lasted. He wasn't going to be like his master, killing all before her without so much as a blink of remorse. He wasn't about to break a four-hundred year vow now just because he didn't have any willpower. He forced himself to release the man's arm and sit up, unbloodied hand covering his nose and mouth to try and block the smell.

"Why'd ya stop?" the man slurred, his voice sounding rough and sleepy. Conrad knew that look; he should probably find the man something to eat. Or maybe a hospital.

"I could have killed you," he said evenly, trying not to breathe in the scent and start the whole process over again. "I still could."

"What, this? S'just a little scratch." He grunted in an almost impatient fashion. "Now come on, I ain't finished yet."

Conrad frowned, until he realized the man was sporting a rather large bulge in his pants, free hand wrapped around it and stroking quickly. It looked more idle than anything, the bored expression on his face revealing he wasn't having nearly as much fun as downstairs suggested.

It took Conrad a full minute to react.

"What the fuck!" he jumped from the man's mattress and found himself on the completely opposite wall. For once, the grime didn't bother him so much. "You're…you're…" fucking crazy came to mind, but Worth cackled before he could say it.

"Lotsa' blood in 'ere, Connie. Why doncha have a bite?"

"You're sick!" Conrad felt repulsion spread throughout his body, even with the smell of blood still so prominent in the air. He made a dash for the door, despite Worth yelling at him to "Get back 'ere, Fagula, and finish what ya started!" He dashed through the hallway and the two rooms until he got to the door he came in through and yanked it open.

He heard himself hiss at the sight of daylight. The sunlight couldn't actually reach him here, but a quick glance both ways revealed that his options were to scale a building and be burned to a crisp, or to walk straight out and be burned to a crisp. He didn't have anything to protect himself with, and the sun was high and strong enough by now that he wouldn't last five minutes. He wasn't too keen on dying so, with some reluctance, he shut the door.

He glanced around the room, trying to find a good place to hole up until the sun went down. There was a small closet, but he doubted he would fit and he would be too easily found. Maybe one of the storage rooms he'd passed on the way to Worth's room? But that would mean going back and Conrad didn't much like the sound of that. His eyes roamed until they landed on the beams high above his head. They would be perfect to hang from, an out of the way place where he could get a good day's rest with hopefully minimal disturbance.

Turning into a bat was seamless by now. He could barely even feel the transformation anymore. One minute, he wanted to be up on the ceiling, and the next he was. It made him wonder sometimes how humans got around without it; there was nothing quite so convenient as a pair of wings. Then again, they also didn't need to drink blood, so maybe that was its own consolation.

He wasn't surprised to find that he couldn't really remember what it was like to be human. It had been four hundred years, after all, and it hadn't exactly been a fun time being food. He only lived through that time because his master had taken a liking to him. Lord knew why; he was just a scrawny kid that wasn't much good for anything. But maybe that was a reason in itself; she knew he would never try to rise up against her, even after his own blooding. He was a coward, a wimp, always doing as he was told and never straying from the orders of those stronger than him. He was the perfect candidate for a servant. Or, more accurately, a puppet.

Now that he wasn't starving, he could feel the exhaustion creeping in. Conrad yawned wide and wrapped his wings around himself in a comfortable, leathery cocoon that blocked out whatever dim light the bulb in the ceiling produced and muffled any sounds that might have reached his sharp little ears. Sleeping was also something that only became better when he became a vampire. Even the softest bed had nothing on this feeling of complete security and warmth.

Conrad woke, he could only assume, several hours later. He stretched out his little wings and gripped the beam to swing himself on top. Normally, he would be like other bats: i.e., barely able to see anything without his echolocation. Luckily for him, his glasses he'd taken to wearing after he realized that no, everything in the world was not just insanely blurry, transformed with him. They sat on his small nose, giving him a clear view of the room below and its single occupant.

The vampire wondered if the man had slept at all after he ran out. The dark circles under his eyes didn't seem any less prominent, though Worth certainly didn't look any worse for wear. Then again, it was hard to gauge the health of someone who looked like he survived on heroine and oxygen alone, with the oxygen being questionable.

He'd heard of people who got off on pain, but he'd never actually met any before. Of course he'd heard all the horror stories of people seeking release through more and more dangerous means, who accidentally hanged themselves or lost too much blood, but like a naïve child he hadn't believed there were people with so little self-preservation in the world. Now he could see that it was very, very real; if he hadn't stopped himself, Worth would have let Conrad drink him dry in pursuit of an orgasm.

A dark part of his mind wondered if he could have killed the man before he got off, like some sort of sick and twisted race. He shuddered, feeling the fur on his spine ruffle. That was something he never wanted to find out.

"I can feel yer beady little eyes drillin' a hole in my head," Worth's voice said from below. Conrad jumped and looked down at the man's sprawled form. He was reclining in his chair, feet up on the desk that seemed to serve no purpose other than to make the room not seem quite so empty. A tattered old book with a green cover held together at the spine with several strips of duct tape rested on his legs. The other man looked completely engrossed in it. Surely he wasn't talking to him?

"Oi, Fagula, mind answerin' when Ahm talkin' to ya?"

Conrad squeaked. "D-don't talk to me you…weirdo!" He had tried to sound threatening, but that damn stutter caught him. Well, if it wasn't the stutter, it would be the high voice that made him sound like he'd been a little too close to a helium factory explosion.

Worth let out a cackle that was not doing much to make him look any saner. "Aw, ain't that precious? Little batty's scared o' the big bad doctor." Conrad felt his ears go flat on his head and bit his tongue to keep from throwing insults at the other man. He wasn't worth it, he told himself. He only had to put up with it until sunset, and then he was out of there.

Speaking of which, he had no idea what time it was.

Conrad glanced at the door. He could fly down, transform, and check. But that would take up too much time, enough for Worth to grab him or do something equally horrible. Too risky.

Damn this place for not having any windows.

"What time is it?" he asked, thinking he might at least get a sarcastic answer that would give him an idea of how long he'd have to wait.

"Night," Worth answered shortly, his attention once again focused on his book.

"Night?" Conrad's ears perked up hopefully. "As in, the sun's gone?"

"Tha's usually wha' happens at night, Bat-face."

With the definite promise of sunless freedom firmly in mind, Conrad began a slow and noiseless climb down a nearby pipe. If he could make it to the door, he could get out before the other man even knew what had happened and make a run for it.

"Aye know what yer up to," Worth said in a bored tone without even so much as a glance in the frozen bat's direction. "Door's right there, Fagula. Just fuckin' walk."

Conrad felt himself transform before he'd made a conscious decision to do so, landing with a small "oof" when he miscalculated and his feet hit the ground too soon. He glared at the man lounging behind the desk as he inched his way to the door, as if expecting him to suddenly jump up and attack him. When the man only continued to stare, he dashed to the door and threw it open…

And promptly received the worst electrical shock in his…well, unlife.

Conrad fell back on the floor, skin and bones abuzz with the effects of the shock. Worth's cackling laugh rang in his ears as he tried to make his vision stop swimming.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that? Pity, I heard it hurts somethin' fierce." Worth snickered loudly as Conrad tried to stand, his traitorous, jelly-like limbs sending him tumbling to the ground once again.

"What…what did you do?" he groaned.

"Ya know, dem runes are a funny thing," Worth said, all cheery and conversational and what Conrad wouldn't _give_ to punch him right in his stupid smug face. "Real useful fer lots o' things. Like takin' that handy little law 'bout vamps not bein' able to go somewhere without bein' invited and turnin' it right the fuck around."

"You…you…what?"

"See fer yerself." The doctor pointed to a small slip of paper taped to the door jamb, sporting some strange symbol Conrad had never seen before. The vampire stood on shaky legs and reached out to grab it, to rip it off and shove it down Worth's stupid throat. But just as his fingers touched it, it moved. He blinked, reached for it again. It moved again. Frustrated, he jumped for it and received another shock when his foot went through the doorway.

"Ugh…wh-where'd you even get this?" he asked when his brain returned to his head. He ignored Worth's laughter this time, though the man certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, if the sheer volume was anything to go by.

"Hanna," he said simply.

"Who?"

"Ginger zombie."

"Oh, yeah." Conrad's glare darkened as he remembered he was the one to get him in this predicament in the first place. "So what, you're just going to trap me in here? That's not going to work forever, you know. What do you even _want_ with me? Besides aiding your twisted jackoff sessions…which I'm not doing again, by the way, let's get that clear right now."

A leery grin spread across Worth's face, but before he could explain just what was making that expression possible, Conrad was practically pushed out of the way by two burly-looking men in cheap suits.

"Doc Worth?" one of them asked, hoisting his companion's arm up onto his shoulder a little higher. It was then that Conrad noticed the man was bleeding…a lot. He had been so engrossed in the argument, he hadn't even smelled it, but he did now, and it reminded him that he still wasn't completely full even if he wasn't exactly starving anymore.

He glanced toward Worth and found the man startlingly serious, throwing his book down on the desk and leading the two men back to the operation room with long, purposeful strides. Conrad followed, curious enough about this drastic personality change to see the results.

"'Ow many bullets?" he heard Worth asking as he peeked inside the room. The bleeding man was laid out on the table already, and the doctor was cutting his shirt open to reveal a bloody and mangled stomach.

"Three still inside, I think," the other man said. "One grazed him on the arm and another exited through the back but I don't think it hit anything important."

"There's a fourth one in my leg," the man on the table slurred. Worth cursed.

"Damnit, I though' you was passed out!" The doctor's gaze whirled around, catching sight of his lurking form. "You! Go get some anesthetic from tha' closet in the other room!"

Conrad blinked in surprised. "Wha…me?"

"Yer a piss-poor nurse, Confag. Yes, you! Get going!"

Conrad nearly tripped over himself getting to the small storage closet. Anesthetic…anesthetic…there! He grabbed the bottle, and what he hoped was a clean syringe, and headed back to Worth.

"Finally." The doctor snatched the items from him and turned back to the patient, setting to work immediately. Conrad watched in something resembling awe. He hadn't really believed the man was a doctor before, but now he seemed...competent. Maybe even able to do the job well, if he was being generous. Of course, there were little details, like the lack of gloves or even evidence of any washed hands as he cut into the man's stomach or the fact that even now he _still_ had a cigarette in his mouth, that threw doubt into the whole scenario. But Conrad could tell he was serious about what he did, for whatever reason, where it counted.

_A piss-poor nurse…_

Huh.

Well.

It was definitely a step up from pet.


End file.
